


Tyrian Purple

by deathlytireddan



Category: The Dreamer Trilogy - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Getting Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 19:29:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21361486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathlytireddan/pseuds/deathlytireddan
Summary: Set sometime in the future where everything is as well as can be expected, Declan writes a letter.She says, “Declan Lynch,” again, but it’s smoother around the edges. Her eyes are the softest he’s seen them. She has a little smile on her mouth.
Relationships: Declan Lynch/Jordan Hennessy
Comments: 8
Kudos: 68





	Tyrian Purple

**Author's Note:**

> :)

Jordan Hennessy.

Hennessy, Jordan. 

J. Hennessy. 

_Jordan._

Declan isn’t melodramatic, he doesn’t thunk his head against the piece of blank, thinly lined paper on his desk, but he does set the pen down. Then picks it up again. Then sets it down. 

He looks at the carefully monochrome stationary set, calculating. It doesn’t seem right, somehow. Jordan is always peeling back the carefully folded, neatly creased lines of him and revealing the uncomfortable truth of himself underneath. 

Uncomfortable to him, not her. Jordan is always thrilled and delighted, in that way of her’s, when he she pulls back a corner. He’s like a piece of origami in her hands.

Shit. He’s written hundreds, probably thousands of emails and letters in his life. Why is this one so different? He knows why. He can’t put on his Declan - face for this one. 

Declan puts the stationary set in the drawer of his desk, steps away from it and the office and the hallway, going up to his attic. It won’t ever be the same, not when he can still feel the way his ankle had caught on loose nail as they scrambled up, chased by dreamkillers and sundogs.

Nothing will ever be the same. 

Declan climbs into the slanting attic, sits down in an empty spot. He has a half filled notebook in here. Sometimes he comes up here to think, and he needs somewhere to put those embarrassing truths in a place he won’t have to look if he doesn’t want to. 

Declan flips to the end of the notebook, tearing out the very last page. 

Why is writing this as a letter so important? Why not a text, or a call, or an in person meeting? 

The first two don’t work, because a) Jordan’s phone is broken and b) she won’t be back in the city for a while. Also, c) trying to confess your feelings to someone over text was better left in high school. 

And so that left only an in person meeting, which doesn’t work for precisely one reason: it is 4 AM and Declan _wants, wants, wants_. He can’t wait the two weeks until Jordan will be back from, as she called it, her _siesta/holiday away from all the bullshit_.

He takes out his pen, wishes he’d taken an antacid before climbing all the way up, and starts.

_Jordan,_

_I want you to know...._

-

Jordan is in front of an easel three business days later, lightly sketching out an original, when the mail arrives. It’s an unusual occurrence only because she hasn’t received any mail at all in the handful of days she’s been here. 

She’d sent out two texts to the two most important people, then broken her phone in half and boarded her plane. It was maybe slightly dramatic, but Jordan had imagined Madox’s face if she’d seen Jordan do it, and then couldn’t help herself from hearing the satisfying _crack_. 

Jordan has drawn three originals so far. Two she’d kept immediately, one she’d scraped off and done again. Now she’s working on her fourth. 

It’s starting to feel like an understood process, a routine. She hasn’t figured out how she’ll ship them back home, but that’s a problem for Jordan of the future. 

The letter is just underneath her door. Jordan doesn’t know who would be sending her a letter, but she does know she hasn’t giving anyone except the two most important people the name of her hotel. 

Jordan sets her pencil down and picks up the envelope. She knows the address neatly printed in the top left. It’s from the second most important person.

Jordan tears it open.

_Jordan,_

_I want you to know.._

-

“You _asshole_,” Jordan exclaims, hands on her hips, not even through Declan’s front door.

Declan blinks at her. She isn’t much shorter than she is, and her tall boots have them at perfect eye level. There is snow stuck to her eyelashes and eyebrows, in her hair, little white specks on her beautiful dark skin. He wants to taste them on her.

He inhales sharply, and shutters closed. The look she gives him tells Declan she knows he’s shuttering closed, and won’t allow it. 

Jordan marches forward, pushing him back, kicking the door shut with her heeled boot without even a glance at it. 

There are goosebumps on the small amount of exposed skin he can see. He remembers that shocking feeling of going from the hot and humid to the cold and soggy.

She shivers, still looking him in the eye. She’s waiting for him to speak, he realizes.

Declan opens his mouth.

Jordan is done waiting. “Declan Lynch! You - you cannot send me a letter like that, on my fucking _siesta_, and expect me to - “

Declan cuts her off, “Well?”

It’s rude. But he can’t handle a Jordan ranting at him without knowing how that Jordan feels. 

She says, “Declan Lynch,” again, but it’s smoother around the edges. Her eyes are the softest he’s seen them. She has a little smile on her mouth. 

All his life, Declan has heard the way people say other peope’s names. The way Niall Lynch would say _Ronan_, like he meant: my favorite, sharp, dangerous boy. The way Aurora Lynch would say _Mathew_, like she meant: my favorite, my sweet, tender boy. 

All his life, everyone has always said _Declan_ like they meant: Declan. 

Jordan says _Declan_, but she means: yes.

She means: I want you for who you are, not the boring, bland, unassuming mask you wear until you’re suffocating yourself.

She means: I love you. 

Declan has kissed his fair share, knows how to kiss people well, but he’s never had someone kiss him this way. He doesn’t have a chance to catch his breath because there was never a chance, not from the very start, not with Jordan. 

“Declan.” She has her arms around his neck. She’s very warm. She snow has melted off of her. 

He has his arms around her waist, feeling where they’re pressed together from shoulder to ankle. 

“Jordan.”

He hopes he’s warm for her, too.

She grins. “It was about time, you know. I was getting impatient.”

His brows move together. “Why didn’t you say something, then?”

“Because. You needed to say it, not me. I’m not the one with the attic.”

Declan licks his lip. He sees her eyes catch the movement. “Okay. But I don’t have to make every other first move, do?”

Jordan moves away, sly, and hooks a finger in the waistband of his slacks. “Definitely not.” She smirks. “Declan.” 

She says it like: you’re mine.

Declan finds he doesn’t mind, at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if you liked this! I hope the characterization is alright for my first time writing either of them.
> 
> [reblog on tumblr here](https://mylionbabe.tumblr.com/post/188912733255/tyrian-purple-ao3-link-here-words-1108-summary)


End file.
